


Going Backwards

by wkemeup



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, F/M, Hope, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Trauma, healing is not a linear line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22977706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wkemeup/pseuds/wkemeup
Summary: Bucky struggles to let go of his past and you’re there to help ease him back to the light
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	Going Backwards

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song Feels Like We’re Only Going Backwards by Tame Impala

Bucky didn’t know how to let go.

He couldn’t seem to shake the shadows that had crept their way through the cavity of his chest, seeped through the veins of his heart like venom and clouded in his blood stream. He couldn’t release the sharp edge of talons that embedded themselves so deep into muscle they broke through skin and bone.

There were evils smothering him; ones that placed a damp rag over his nose and mouth and demanded he fill his lungs with the sharp sting of poison. He tried to resist – _honest,_ he did – but as much as his past clung to him, there was a part of Bucky that held it right back. It was a comfort, the only home he knew, and he willingly breathed in the chemicals.

Maybe it was because he felt he deserved the dark clouds hovering around him. He’d caused too much pain and suffering in his years to ever be redeemed, hadn’t he? Or maybe he just couldn’t remember what life was like before the Winter Soldier carved its way into his mind and tore apart the pieces of the man he used to be.

It didn’t matter, he supposed, because he still shared a home with the darkness and knew it by name. It was an old friend, a familiar demon, and he didn’t push it away when it came calling.

**_It feels like I only go backwards, baby_ **

He didn’t even try. Not until you.

***

The moment you walked into Bucky’s life, it was like his first breath of air after he’d been swept under an ocean current. His lungs were filled with water, pressure like anvils weighing on his chest, but you smiled at him and suddenly he found his way to the surface again.

One breath.

A gasp of air.

It was all he needed.

It bought him some time for when the current came to drag him under again. 

You held your distance at first with small glances in his direction when he walked in the room, subtle waves from the corner of the gym with your hands taped up and boxing gloves under your arms, handing him a mug of coffee wordlessly when he stumbled into the kitchen past noon.

There was more you wanted to say, more you’d like to do for him, and he could see it in the way you bit down on your lip to stop yourself before the words could tumble out. The slight chewing on the edge of an old scar at the corner of your mouth as you smiled nervously at him and Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like if he let down his defenses for only a minute.

You didn’t seem to mind the dark circles under his eyes or the grease at the roots of his long, disheveled hair. You were unbothered by his quiet reservation and the way he flinched at the slightest of sounds. The violence of his past and the honors etched into the linings of his hands didn’t even seem to cross your mind because a woman who smiled at him like that couldn’t possibly know the monstrosities he’d committed.

The morning a sudden crash of a mug to the tile floor at Sam’s feet left a gasp in your own lungs, you had turned to find Bucky with a butter knife in his hand at the breakfast table, body tense and on alert.

There was fire in his veins, he was sure of it. He could hear the Hydra soldiers marching down the hallway for him, ready to drag him to that god-awful room with the chair that took his free will and singed his skin until it was burned raw.

He was on the verge of a panic attack when a soft hand grazed over his forearm and took his breath away.

Wide eyes snapped to you and he found no hesitancy in your touch. You smiled sweetly at him, gently coaxing the panic out of him with a subtle squeeze, a light stroke on his arm, as if you were easing the tension from his body.

It was the first time you touched him and the tenderness of it startled him.

It was unexpected. He stared at your hand for a full minute before you took it away and he was surprised to find he missed it almost instantly; the soft curl of your fingers, the warmth of your palm, the instinctive brush of your thumb along his ratted t-shirt in soothing sweeps.

“You alright, Buck?” you asked quietly, just enough so only he could hear.

His throat ran dry. His eyes found your hand sitting by your mug, wrapping around the handle. He wanted to ask you to ground him again, wanted to tell you that he saw the little things you did for him, wanted you to know that he appreciated it more than he quite knew how to explain, but he couldn’t get the words out.

Instead, he jumped away from the table, left his cereal half eaten and stalked off to his room. He tried to ignore the feeling of your concerned eyes lingering on his shoulder blades as he retreated. 

The darkness took hold of him again.

**_It feels like I only go backwards, baby_ **

***

You didn’t push him, didn’t ask of him more than he could willingly give, but you didn’t tread around him like he was made of glass, either.

You were fast to notice that with every glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, he turned his back to it and walked further into the shadows. It was like it burned him – the sting of _hope_ – and he wouldn’t allow himself the possibly of disappointment.

But you didn’t give up on him.

Even when you should have.

“Hey Buck!” you called one afternoon, all smiles as you plopped down on the couch beside him.

He tensed up at the sudden closeness of you despite his best effort. He knew you could see the stiffness in his muscles and he put careful intention into relaxing each one the way his therapist taught him; concentrating hard on his shoulders and down to his toes, pushing the tension away with intentional breaths.

You waited until he was finished, when he let out a sigh of relief once his body got on the same page with his mind and remembered that you were not a threat.

You were patient with him, watching carefully and he gritted out a tight smile. He was trying, and that seemed to be enough for you, though he wasn’t sure why.

“I could use a decent sparring partner,” you said, nudging his arm playfully.

He didn’t say anything at first, but when you followed it up with, “Sam’s the only one around and I think it’s unfair of me pin him as many times as I have,” Bucky cracked a smile. It was foreign on his cheeks, hurt a little from the unused muscles, but it felt nice. He nodded and you jolted up from the couch with a grin on your face.

You grabbed his hand, dragging him down to the gym, and he found himself digging his heels a little, just to hear your laughter, the playfulness in your voice as you tugged on his arm with all of your weight.

The darkness felt a little further away when you laughed.

Weeks later and he began to feel at home in the ring with you. It became a sanctuary; one he recognized well. The ropes lining the perimeter of the ring kept out the demons on his back, you chased them away with a tap of your gloved fists, they ran from you when they saw you smiling at him. He began to wonder after the fourth week of meeting you in the ring, when your gloves tapped at the center and he readied himself for your first hit, if he might find the end of this tunnel.

But the walls caved in on him, they always did, and it happened the first night he found himself alone with you in the gym.

Long abandoned by the remaining SHEILD agents, the only sounds filling the room were the smacks of gloves and your slight labored breathing as Bucky dove under your punch. You were laughing, a little out of breath, and it echoed up into the rafters. As he paused to listen to the reverberations of it, the way it bounced off the ceiling and stole it’s place deep within his heart, Bucky was almost certain he was _happy_.

It came crashing down the second you tripped on his foot, right after he’d side stepped his way out from another punch, always playing the defensive with you, and it sent the two of you spiraling to the mat.

“ _Shit,_ sorry,” you laughed, the full weight of your body on his as you tried to tuck your hair behind your ear to keep it from falling in his face.

He could feel all of you. The soft curve of your breasts, the bones in your hips, your thighs as one slipped between his legs. It was more of you than he’d ever touched and he wasn’t sure whether it was grounding him to something real or propelling him straight through the earth to the darkest depths of an abyss.

“S’okay,” he exhaled and he watched as you scrunched your nose, giggling at the warmth of his breath on your cheeks.

His stomach twisted as you tugged your lower lip between your teeth, though it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t painful or unpleasant, but it wasn’t a feeling he knew and he quickly rolled out from under you without another word.

He could hear you as you sat back on your heels, calling his name as he muttered a lame excuse and escaped faster than you could chase him. He recognized the gentle confusion, the slight disappointment, the _guilt_ in your voice because he’d heard it many times before; each time he left you just on the edge of the light so he could run scrambling back to the darkness he knew.

It was familiar. It wasn’t safe. But it was home.

**_It feels like I only go backwards, baby_ **

***

You were patient with him and Bucky still couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t given you much reason to be, but when you appeared in the doorframe of his bedroom holding a cardboard box of pizza and Styrofoam tub of wings in the other, Bucky smiled despite himself.

“You didn’t get dinner,” you said simply and you set the plate down on the bed beside him, nudging on his shoulder until he got up from his side and scooted over enough to give you space to sit. You turned on the tv, flipped to something called Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and settled in beside him. You didn’t say anything as you hand him a slice of pizza.

It didn’t seem to register to you – or maybe you were unbothered – that he’d spent the last two days holed up in this room. He’d barely lifted his head from the pillow in forty-eight hours because he’d been thrown into a damn tailspin by a nightmare he was almost certain he’d seen the last of. But it came back, they always did, and it tossed him right back to square one.

Not even Steve could drag his miserable ass out of the bed long enough to shower.

And yet—here you were, sitting in the bed beside him without a second thought. He didn’t even consider sending you away and he wondered how it was possible you’d managed to sneak your way under his defenses so quickly.

Bucky stared at you for a moment, studying the slight stain of buffalo sauce on the corner of your lip, your fingers coated in light orange, the smile on your face as the cold open ended and the title credits appeared on the screen. You were humming to yourself, shoulders bouncing in the beat of the song and it might have been the most adorable thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

It stunned him how it easy it was for you to be around him, how he hadn’t poisoned you with the shadows embedded in his chest or chased you away from the steel walls he built around himself.

Bucky took the pizza from your hand, realizing you were still holding it out for him to take and his cheeks turned red. You thought nothing of it because you were already laughing at the TV, digging into another wing.

Bucky took his first bite of food in nearly two days and it reminded him of the shop he used to frequent as a kid with Steve; the perfect blend of tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, oregano, and perfectly baked crust. He downed it rather quickly, the emptiness in his stomach apparent now that he’d had a taste.

He didn’t see you smile to yourself as he reached for another.

So, became routine.

Boxing in the ring. Pizza in his bed.

He came to expect you by his bedroom door on Thursday nights and he’d learned to leave you space on the left side of the bed. He already had the next episode queued on the TV before you arrived.

It was comforting being around you. It was a sense of normalcy he hadn’t known in years and it made him wonder what life would be like if he had survived the war like he should have, if he’d never fallen off that train and made it home to his ma and sister in Brooklyn.

There wouldn’t be Netflix, but there’d still be good pizza. He wouldn’t have this anvil sized guilt sitting on his shoulders. Maybe he would have been a normal guy; would have got a job and worked a nine-to-five, would have married a pretty woman and had a few kids and grow old.

It sounded nice.

But he wouldn’t have you.

A thought slipped through his mind as he caught a glimpse of you beside him, eyes falling heavy with sleep and your head bobbed onto his shoulder. You leaned onto heavy, solid metal, and you didn’t seem phased; not by the bitter cold of it or the roughness of the scars where the appendage met his flesh.

No – you curled up against him reflexively, wrapping your arms around his bicep and sighing sweetly against the cool metal like it may have been a comfort to you.

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. He was sure it was louder than the TV.

Because he found himself wondering if maybe his decades of hell were worth it just to sit here with you like this.

The thought terrified him.

Claws reached up and dragged him under. He felt the darkness taking hold again and he tried to hold on to the glimmer of light, but it was swept away by the current. He sank to the bottom.

While he didn’t run away, he fell into himself. He tensed his muscles, closed his eyes, and waited for morning.

He slipped out from his room before you woke and he didn’t see you for five days. He couldn’t bare it. He was sure he’d fall apart at the seams.

**_It feels like I only go backwards, baby_ **

_***_

“Dance with me.”

You were alone with Bucky in the living room and he still tried to tell himself you weren’t talking to him. He swallowed, not daring to lift his eyes from his book, and ignored you, thinking you might just give up on him like he expected you would. You turned the music up louder.

“Bucky Barnes, get off your ass,” you demanded though there was a playfulness in your voice.

You grabbed his book gently, waited for him to let go, and carefully set it down on the couch beside him. You offered him your hand as the melody faded to something light and sweet, the fragrant sounds of an acoustic guitar and a low hum a raspy voiced singer.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Bucky mumbled, stealing a glance up at your eyes and you were smiling so patiently at him, he was sure his heart is going to break in half.

“Dancing is always a good idea, Buck,” you giggled, “now get up!”

His hand slipped into yours.

You only gave him a second to adjust before guiding his free hand to your lower back and setting your own on his shoulder. He was standing so close to you he could smell the scent of your shampoo and it made his stomach twist into knots.

You must have sensed it. You were incredibly perceptive and you must have seen how easily he gave into his demons, how the slightest ounce of light burned him because he was too used to overwhelming darkness, and you started to coax gentle circles along his shoulder. He didn’t even realize your hand was brushing over metal and scars until he looked down to find his flesh hand encased in yours.

“See? You’re wonderful at it,” you sighed, swaying him along to the music. He didn’t do a thing, just let himself be moved by you, and it scared him how much of his burdens you were willing to carry.

He tried to hold onto the sliver of light, because it was _you_ ; _you were the light,_ and he so desperately wanted to stay, but the claws were dragging him back again. He could feel them dig into his shins, puncture through his biceps and tug him through the shadows. He could feel the floorboards under his nails because he was fighting it – _honest to God_ , he was fighting – but it wasn’t enough.

“I– I can’t,” he stuttered, stepping back from you abruptly. Your hands fell away and the smile left your face, replacing it with a sad kind of frown that nearly tore him to shreds worse than the darkness threatening to do him in. “I can’t do this. I’m– I’m sorry.”

“Okay, Buck,” you replied sweetly, trying to take a step closer to him, to calm him because his heart was racing and you must have seen the way his hands were clenching at his sides. You were always patient with him, cautious, loving, and it terrified him. He didn’t do anything to deserve that. He was so sure of it.

“Let’s just watch a movie, yeah?” you tried, “I’ll make popcorn and we’ll–”

“I can’t,” he said again, already backing up to his room. He hated himself. He was a coward.

He tried to drown out your voice when you called his name.

**_It feels like I only go backwards, baby_ **

_***_

No matter how many times he pushed you away, you were still there waiting for him at the gym on weekday mornings, still standing at his bedroom door on Thursdays with pizza and wings. You didn’t abandon him, no matter how many times he told himself you would.

_You’d grow tired of him._

_You’d get sick of his back and forth._

_You’d find someone who could actually give you what you needed._

He tried to stay away from you, tried to be the one to cut ties, but he couldn’t do it. All you had to do is say his name and he’d hear it inside his head the rest of the day. The gentle, melodic tone of your voice; the soft inflections, the smile at the corner of your lips as you called for him. It was so small, so simple, but it brought him one step close to the light.

Bucky woke one night drenched in sweat, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, sheets thrown haphazardly around the room, and he looked up to find you hovering over his bedside. He expected you to run, to flinch away from him, but you didn’t. Instead, a hand landed gently on the side of his face, brushing away the tears on his cheeks.

“Let me help you, honey.”

He didn’t know what to say, not when you were looking at him like he was worth saving, like you saw a future where he could let go of all the demons and shadows smothering him beneath the surface.

You smiled at him, coaxing your fingers through his hair, just waiting, because you were nothing if not incredibly patient with him. Nails scratched along his scalp, luring him to a sense of calm he’d been craving, helping him release some of the tension stiffening his muscles, until he finally nodded.

There were tears in his eyes as he scooted over for you, allowing you space to slip under the covers beside him. When you were settled amongst the pillows, you opened your arms for him.

He stared at you, watched the way you gestured for him to come closer, how willing you were to be near a man as broken and corrupted as him. There was no reluctance in your eyes, so trace of pity or charity. If he squinted enough, if he let himself believe it, he might have recognized the subtle inflections of love.

His walls began to crumble as he slowly fell into your embrace. They were piles of rocks on the ground and you gathered him in your arms, letting him rest his head against your collarbone as his right arm draped over your waist. He felt the light press of your lips to his forehead, feather soft, like a kiss of a light breeze, and it took pounds of weight from his shoulders.

Beyond the walls he’d built, now left in broken pieces at his feet, he could see a sunrise over the tree line; filled with pinks and purples, oranges and reds. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, squinted at the brightness ahead of him and he took a step forward.

“Don’t let me run from you again,” Bucky exhaled, curling his arms under your back, trying to get closer than he was. “Don’t let me go backwards.”

“I’m here, Buck.” You held him, intentionally tugging him tighter against you, running patterns along his back with the tips of your fingers. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

He nodded, leaning up with more courage than he’d had since the fall, and pressed a short, chaste kiss to your jaw line. He didn’t wait for your reaction before he curled back against your chest, but he could hear the slight thumping of your heart and he smiled at how quickly it was beating. You settled in under his weight, ran your fingers through his hair, and he closed his eyes.

He didn’t realize that he took two steps forward for every step back. He was still moving, still inching towards the end of the tunnel.

He forgot that he no longer spent his days curled up alone in his room or that he started teaching Wanda hand-to-hand combat on Mondays. He forgot that he reached out to his sister at her nursing home in Jersey and that he started running low level SHEILD ops around the city. He forgot that he’d learned how to smile again, that he starting going to team movies nights on Fridays, and that he’d been consistently seeing his therapist for over a year now.

He discounted his progress because he could only see his failings.

It was how he was trained, how he was broken down at Hydra.

He had to unlearn it.

He had to keep moving forward.

But now he realized he didn’t have to do it alone.


End file.
